That's What Friends Do
by anonyreaderfan
Summary: One shot about Stephen taking John home after Cara kicked him out of the lair. One of the things I wished the show had explored in greater detail was the friendship between Stephen and John.


Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People is the property of the CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Italics_ = thoughts

"_Italics"_ in quotes = mental conversation

~ X ~

Stephen was still fuming over his conversation with Cara. How could she toss John out on the street? If John hadn't acted when he did, yours truly would have a port drilled in his spinal cord, and the Founder would have had it all. All being the location of the lair, his spying, everything, and Astrid would be dead. What was she thinking?

He ran a hand through his hair. This day was about frustration and now that frustration spilled over to include John. _"John, answer me! Where are you?"_

He had been calling for at least a half hour. A sigh of relief escaped him as he heard the following message. _"You're giving me a headache."_

"_Where are you?"_

"_Bar,"_ was the solemn reply.

Stephen raised his eyes to the heavens. _"Which bar?"_ he insisted, as he prayed for patience.

After a moment while John apparently debated with himself, he received an answer. _"Dooley's."_

Stephen was both thankful because he knew where it was and alarmed because Ultra also knew where it was. It wouldn't be the first time someone had been cornered there.

He teleported to the alley behind the bar, almost landing on the dumpster. He quickly strode around to the front of the establishment and entered, eyes searching for John. He wrinkled his nose distastefully at the blue and green lights that were supposed to lend atmosphere, but instead cheapened the place.

He spotted a blonde head, leaning on a hand, elbow propped on the bar. Dejection showed in every line of his slumped shoulders. A burst of anger at Cara escaped him.

"_Stephen? What's wrong?"_ She had immediately felt his strong emotion.

He took savage delight in slamming his shields down, roughly rejecting her.

Stephen slipped onto the bar stool next to John. When the bartender raised an inquiring eye, Stephen shook his head, and made a negative wave with his hand, indicating he didn't want anything. The last thing he needed was to get carded and thrown out before he got John to a safe place.

John lifted his head, seeming surprised to see Stephen. "I didn't know you came here?" He blinked and spoke slowly, making an effort to pronounce each word with care.

_Wow, he's really drunk._ The thought slipped into Stephen's mind while he said, "I heard what happened. I'm sorry."

John bobbed his head. "She threw me out." Stephen felt John's shock, but most of all his hurt that Cara would turn on him like that. "After all we've been through."

He looked bewildered. He grabbed a handful of Stephen's shirt. "I did right thing, Sheven. I don't get it. Did the right thing!" He pounded his fist on the bar to emphasize the last point, but he missed and almost unbalanced himself.

"You did do the right thing." Stephen assured him as he helped center him back on the bar stool. "And I'm thankful that you did."

Stephen just didn't get it. When Cara had led the charge to crash the debutante party that ended with such disastrous results, John had never reproached her. John had done everything right, and no one had gotten hurt, and she turned on him as if he had committed some type of crime.

John raised a hand to the bartender and pointed at his drained glass. "Ish empty," he informed Stephen.

"How many have you emptied?" Stephen grimaced.

John frowned as he attempted to remember. "Some," he finally replied as the effort to count became more than he cared to make.

The bartender hesitated, eying John, but apparently decided to give him one more refill.

Stephen's eyes widened as a thought struck him. He patted his pockets and pulled out a ten dollar bill. That would not be enough to pay the tab in this place. "Do you have money to pay for this?" he hissed at John.

John played with the glass, sloshing the liquid so it spilled on his hand. "I do." He smiled gleefully at Stephen. "Hit up an ATM."

"Oh God, no!" Stephen put his elbows on the bar, cupping his forehead in his hands. "What were you thinking? They'll have you on camera."

John held up a finger and shook it at Stephen. "Hah! That's where you're right." He stopped talking, looking puzzled. "No . . . that's where you're wrong," he corrected himself. "I know what I do. I stand side and push and then teleporsh . . . teleport too fast for cameras. They're not Tim, ya know. They can't catch me." He smiled triumphantly.

John's smug expression so resembled the one Luca wore when the kid thought he had put one over on his big brother that Stephen couldn't help but laugh.

John finally realized that his hand was wet, but appeared puzzled as to how it had happened. He looked around for something to wipe it on and then decided to use his shirt. Stephen stopped him in time, reaching for a stack of cocktail napkins. As he dried the wet hand Stephen asked, "Where you gonna stay? You've gotta get off the streets. You're too well known."

John's mouth turned down. "Don't know. Can't think about it." He turned to Stephen, his pain so obvious that if Cara had been present then, Stephen could have cheerfully throttled her. "She threw me out. She doesn't care about me anymore."

Stephen grasped John's shoulder and squeezed it consolingly. "She cares. She's just mad. She'll get over it."

John sighed. "Don't care. Don't care bout anything." He raised the glass to his lips and drained it. Stephen wanted to stop him, but didn't know how to without causing a scene.

"Come on. You come home with me." Stephen searched John's jacket looking for money.

John watched him owlishly; neither helping nor objecting. Stephen found a wad of cash. He waved the bartender over. "I wanna settle his tab."

The bartender pulled out a slip. "Do I need to call a cab for him? I didn't realize how far gone he was. He's a quiet drunk. Some of them get mean and rowdy. He's pretty mellow."

"Nah, I'll get him home," Stephen assured the bartender, as he threw cash on the tab. "Keep the change."

He tried to pull John up, but John wasn't all that steady, and he wasn't easy to move. Stephen gave a discreet little mental push to get him off the barstool.

"Whee. That was fun." John smiled at him.

Stephen had to laugh. He put an arm around John's waist, and John, after two tries, got an arm over Stephen's shoulder. "Thanks, buddy. You good friend."

"You're a good friend too, John." Stephen realized as soon as he said it, that he really meant it. As he maneuvered John out of the bar, he thought about how his feelings about John had changed. He started off criticizing and resenting him because of Cara. But as he got to know him, he appreciated that he was a true leader. Appreciated how he tried to do what was right. They had saved each others' lives, and John had unfailingly supported him. John, as much as he had suffered at Ultra's hands, would not give up his people. There were those who talked about sacrificing, and there were those who did. John did.

When they hit the cool air outside, John hung on hard to Stephen. "Whoa. Dizzy. Maybe I should sit down." He reached a hand down as if he could touch the sidewalk and tried to bend his knees, but Stephen jerked him upright.

"Nope, walk with me, John," Stephen insisted. "Once we get to the alley, I'll teleport us to an area near my house."

"You sure okay to go to your house? What bout your mom?" John frowned as the thought hit him.

"It will be fine. I'll explain," Stephen assured him.

"I'll help out." John smiled happily as the thought occurred to him. "I'll cook for you."

"Oh, so you're a domestic goddess!" Stephen's every present sense of humor reared its head. Much as he sympathized with John, he couldn't resist the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense.

John frowned as he thought it over. He tripped, but Stephen caught him and held him upright.

"Not goddess. God," he cheerfully said. "Domeshic God."

Stephen laughed. "I think my Mom's got some aprons stashed away. I'll dig one up for you."

John assured him. "Never use an apron."

"Oh, but you have to. Can't cook in my Mom's kitchen without an apron," Stephen spoke seriously even though he was laughing inside. "She's got a pretty pink one."

"Not pink," John objected, "that's for girls." He thought a moment. "Brown. Brown's a guy's color.

Stephen grinned as a thought struck him. "No, I got it. Black leather. We'll get you a black leather apron. It will match your jacket. That's a real guy thing."

"Kay," John said doubtfully, "if you say so."

Stephen smiled happily, storing away the memory. Someday, when things got back to normal, he was gonna share this. Especially if John tried to lecture him. And he wouldn't just share this with John. Nah, he'd have to share it with Russell. Oh yeah, Russell would really appreciate this.

But first, he had to get John to safety. John tripped again and nearly brought Stephen down with him. Time to teleport out of here before they both landed on their butts.

John tilted his head back, peering at Stephen through half closed eyes. "Why you do this?"

"Cause that's what friends do, John. They help each other out," Stephen said. "Hang on."

He turned and they were gone.

~ FIN ~


End file.
